


What Could Go Wrong

by Soaring_Ren (Robin_Knight)



Series: Right and Wrong [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Post Mpreg, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8923249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Knight/pseuds/Soaring_Ren
Summary: Keith believed Shiro was dead. He was relieved to discover he was wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

“Hold on, Shiro. Hold on.”

Keith landed beside the shack. The vehicle landed beside his private workshop; it was an extension made from metal sheeting, with a small brown door that featured a large window above, and – for the most part – it had become a dumping ground for various pieces of machinery over the past sixteen months. There was nothing wrong with the shack itself, made from strong pieces of wood and primarily designed as a ‘getaway’ places by Shiro.

The building was small, with just a living room and makeshift kitchen downstairs, along with what could tentatively be called a ‘bathroom’ to the side, and – up a small staircase – was a bedroom that had been cosy and romantic during their past rendezvous. Keith blushed at the memory of their times together. He shook his head, as he wrapped one arm around his lover’s waist and draped Shiro’s arm over his shoulder to grip upon, and slowly dragged him over to the porch, cursing how he had somehow become sheer muscle and bulk since his absence.

It was difficult to carry him.

The desert was a tough and sterile place, with mounds and dunes all around them, and the sand and dirt beneath his feet made purchase upon the ground a struggle to maintain. There was a blessing that came from the beautiful view of the distant cityscape, where the Garrison could just about be seen with some eyestrain, and the sky above was always so bright and clear, enough that the stars could be seen down to ever last constellation. Keith carried Shiro around and up three small steps onto the porch, before he dropped him into a waiting chair.

“Good job we had no dead weight,” muttered Keith.

He gasped for breath, as he reached down to place hands upon his knees. The exhaustion hit him hard, as finally the high-speed chase and life-threatening rescue came to an end, and now – as the adrenaline wore off – he wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed and let dreams take over from reality. Shiro was a surprise to him. Shiro forced him to change his plans at the very last second. The worst part was how he no longer looked like Shiro . . . white hair, pale skin, and pure muscle . . . scars . . . tattered and exposing clothes . . .

It was difficult to even recognise Shiro. The absolute worst part was the cybernetic arm, which seemed to act as a prosthetic of sorts, and there was no knowledge of what the arm was programmed to achieve or what a danger it might possess. Keith – as he swallowed hard and tried to slow down his racing heart – he also realised something had happened for Shiro to lose that same arm, to lose a part of himself, and fear coursed through him afresh.

The night was growing cold, but no more so than one would expect in such a climate, and yet he could see the way that Shiro shivered and pursed his lips, as if these climes were something new to him or something incomprehensible. Keith knew he would need to get his lover inside, but the idea of moving him seemed almost cruel, especially as Shiro seemed almost at peace and looked comfortable upon his favourite chair. The moment was broken by a cry from inside the shack; it was loud and piercing, high-pitched and familiar.

“You’re in for one hell of a surprise, Shirogane.”

Keith struggled to lift Shiro once again. The body was warm and appeared healthy, but the muscle was like solid rock and clearly defined, and – for a brief moment – Keith wondered whether he misremembered his partner’s body or whether time had truly changed him. They soon made their way to the front door, which was left unlocked out of habit, as Keith forced upon the door with the side of his body and an awkward movement of his hand, and – with a sigh of relief – pulled Shiro inside the warmth of the shack.

The playpen sat in the far corner of the room, where the cries emanated with a loud vengeance, and Keith – with a slight roll of his eyes – feared that the sound would awaken his lover and cause far more confusion than was wanted. It took longer than expected to drag Shiro to the makeshift bed in the corner of the small room, and longer still to settle the child after reassuring them that the forty-minute absence hadn’t been intended as ‘forever’.

By the time he had finished with both, he collapsed in exhaustion.

Keith fell asleep to his son pulling at his hair.

* * *

“I have a son?” Shiro asked.

The small boy sat beside Shiro on the bed. He had black hair, rather long for a child of eight months, and skin the same darker shade of Shiro, so much so that the boy seemed fascinated by the similarity and continually touched upon his father’s face. Those eyes were the same familiar blue-grey that Keith saw in the mirror each day, while his cheeks were chubby with expressive and beautiful smiles, which caused the parents to smile in turn.

Shiro sat upright, with his back rested upon several pillows. The clothes he wore suited him well, salvaged from storage, and Keith – with a massive feeling of relief – could not express the emotions that came from having saved those items for all that time. They had told him to find closure by throwing away Shiro’s belongings, but a part of him knew that one day he or his son would want that connection to the man that meant so much to them, and now Shiro was back it was amazing twist of fortune. The black outfit clung to him well.

It was extremely form fitting, but that came from his lover having gained bulk. There was also a slight musty smell, from having sat in cardboard in the workshop, but otherwise nothing to complain about and a blessing in disguise. Their son was soon lifted onto Shiro’s lap, where the cold metal of his cybernetic arm came to brush back black locks of hair, and the little boy – with eyes open in awe – became quiet at the touch. Shiro asked:

“Does he have a name?”

“Dylan Shirogane,” said Keith. “I – I thought you were _dead_. I wanted him to have something of yours, even if it was just a name, and I – I really – I don’t . . . I never even got to tell you that I was going to have a baby. I found out only after you left . . . I thought you’d be back after eight months . . . four months there, four months back, but –”

“I’m back now, Keith.” Shiro have a warm smile. “Look, I want to stay, I really do, but you don’t know what it was like out there. I need to warn someone, Keith! I can’t stay here, not when the Galra could be invading us at any moment. It’s not just about us any longer.”

“Do you honestly expect me to let you go? I just got you back!”

“This isn’t about us, but about the human race.”

Shiro looked down to his son. The boy only knew Shiro from photographs, which were always strategically placed about his room, and he appeared amazed that the man from the pictures was real and before him. It felt good to see them finally together, bonding in a way that only a parent and child could manage, and Dylan would babble aimlessly in that way only possible for children that had yet to learn how to talk in words. Shiro would run a hand over his son’s head, smoothing out his hair and tickling his cheeks.

There was a small chill through the shack; the boards were prone to draughts, which caused Keith to pin blankets upon the walls in colder months, so that his son would be protected from the harsher climates and outside winds. He wanted nothing more than to be a family. The idea that Shiro could go back to teaching at the garrison, that Keith could find a job and help to support their son, was all too tempting and like a dream come true.

“I have to warn someone,” said Shiro.

Keith gave a long sigh, as he moved to sit beside his partner. There was an aroma of stew throughout the small shack, as the large pot came to a boil on the stove, and there was also a small hope that the heat from cooking would warm their room. It was strange to lean against Shiro, especially as the metal of the prosthetic felt cold and unnaturally solid upon his body, but – worse still – Shiro gave a small flinch when Keith came into contact with the limb.

There had been so much that happened in the past year, but for it was almost unthinkable to imagine what Shiro had endured. Keith tried to press him for information, especially regarding the aliens that stole Shiro from their lives, but so far every question had been met with vivid flashbacks or blatant disassociation. The lack of knowledge brought a lack of closure, so much so that Keith felt his curiosity burning holes within his chest, and – with every breath – he was desperate to keep Shiro with him at all costs.

“Lance is dealing with it,” lied Keith. “It’s fine.”

“Who? I don’t recognise the name.”

“It’s just someone at the Garrison. I forgot about them, too, until I ran into them.” Keith shrugged and rested his head upon Shiro’s shoulder. “I went to steal information, I didn’t even think you were there, but then there you were . . . I – I didn’t recognise you at first. I’m so sorry, but I just didn’t realise it was you until I took a closer look. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s fine, but what about this Lance? Does he know who to talk to about the Galra? They have a huge amount of power! They’ve enslaved most of the universe, Keith; you have no idea how important it is to act now, while we still have a chance and –”

“I gave them directions to the other shack.” Keith bit his lip with a sigh. “I shared with them my research, all of what’s on the board, and – well – he and a couple of his friends said they would check it out first thing tomorrow. They wanted us to go with them, but I really don’t think that’s appropriate in your condition. You need time to heal. We need time to be a family. Let them use the information and deal with whatever’s out there.”

Shiro clenched his organic hand into a tight fist. It caught Keith’s full attention, especially as his lover was not one to express anger in such a display, and he realised that the entirety of Shiro’s body became tense and stiff as a board. He swallowed back his fear, as he carefully positioned himself directly behind Shiro and began to massage his shoulders, as he hoped – praying that could get back into their old rhythm – that the gesture would be enough to calm him and lull him into a sleep. Shiro asked in a deep and monotone voice:

“What if they can get no one to listen?”

“They will,” said Keith.

“What if they find nothing out there that can help?” Shiro shook his head. “Is that your research on the board? If I go through that later, will I find anything other than what they’ve found? I want to be there tomorrow when they arrive. I _need_ to be there.”

Keith kneaded the muscles beneath his hands, as his thumbs worked out a series of knots. It felt like there was a mass of scars beneath his shirt, something which Keith hadn’t noticed on changing him, but it made him curious as to what happened to his back. He drew in a deep breath and made a mental note to buy lotions for his skin, something to perhaps ease any possible pain or make the scars less noticeable, and he placed a kiss to Shiro’s neck.

There was an almost imperceptible flinch. Dylan gave a loud yawn, with mouth open and eyes watering with tiredness, and Shiro – with a small smile – lifted the baby against his chest and bounced him with natural and gentle movements. It was unlike Dylan to fall asleep so easily, but Keith would readily admit to not finding parenting an instinctual endeavour, and Shiro appeared to be everything their son needed, as he gave Dylan the unconditional love and respect that every child wanted. Keith always missed that as an orphan.

“Just focus on getting better,” begged Keith.

Shiro promised nothing in reply.

* * *

Keith awoke with a start.

The bed beside him was empty and cold, much like the past year spent alone. There was a small cry from Dylan from his crib, place just in front of the board upon which Keith often worked, and – as Keith’s eyes adjusted to the darkness – he realised something odd. The sheet over his board was lying next to Dylan’s crib, with a large sheet of paper tacked to the top of the board, where it covered a vital piece of evidence collected by Keith.

Keith rubbed at his eyes, as he climbed out of bed. The clothes he wore were wrinkled, too tired to change and too unwilling to spend even a moment away from his lover, and – as he yawned and stretched several times – he slowly made his way to the board. It was always difficult to jump out of bed when Dylan cried, as the small child tended to cry right in the middle of his sleep cycle, and yet he ignored the strange sheet of paper to reach down into the crib to bring up his son to his chest. There was an instant quietening of the child.

“Daddy go for a walk again?” Keith asked.

He lifted Dylan high to sniff at his diaper, relieved that there was no need to change him, but – after only just getting Shiro back in his life – he felt a stab of fear that his lover could have left them already, even if that was only to clear his head or get some fresh air. Dylan gave small moans of protest, each time that Keith rocked him back and forth, and there was a lot of frustration when he thought how easy it was for Shiro to comfort their son, as well as a small spark of jealousy at that realisation. He hoped Shiro would be back soon.

“Okay, well, let’s read that note, I guess.”

They moved to the board, where Keith removed the paper. The handwriting was all too familiar, memorised from over a year spent rereading love letters, and – with a smile – he struggled to process how a man long thought dead could suddenly be back in his life . . . a second chance and a fresh start. It brought a smile to his face, that spoke of undying love and how hope of seeing Keith again kept him alive, until there came that devastating phrase: ‘if you get too worried about what could go wrong, you’ll miss a chance to do something great’.

Keith dropped the letter to the floor. The final words were a goodbye, as Shiro promised to find Lance and the others, and a scrawled excuse that he needed to defeat the Galra for their son’s sake, so that he could grow up knowing only peace. Fate had finally brought them together, only for Shiro to tear them apart. Keith was alone again. He would have to explain to his son that his father chose something else . . . chose something over them . . .

Tears began to rise to his eyes, as he clasped Dylan close against his body. The worst fears of his life rose to the surface: abandonment, rejection, and isolation. He had found Shiro by chance alone, believing him dead and gone, but even after bring him home . . . Shiro would rather be with virtual strangers and search for those aliens. Keith began to draw in choked and heavy breaths, each one more painful than the last, until his son gave a murmur of confusion and reached up to touch his cheek. The very touch alone broke him.

Keith wept in earnest.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Keith gave a low sigh.

The afternoon was surprisingly cold; he could see every exhale of breath, as steam left his mouth in small clouds, and his fingers felt numb from the fingerless gloves. There was a layer of frost over the pavements, which Dylan had loved on the way to school that morning, and – as children began to leave the school – he saw them sliding and racing to their parents with wide smiles and loud bouts of laughter. He envied them for their innocence.

There were parents all around the perimeter of the playground, standing like guards to the edges, and he wondered how many of those women and men would have partners waiting at home for them, with children telling them about their days. Keith crossed his arms over his chest with a sense of emptiness . . . he heard a young girl run next to him, as she told her mother about her day, and he saw two boys fight with imaginary swords by the school gates . . . so many families, so many lives, and so much love in such a small space.

He moved from foot to foot in an attempt to keep warm. Dylan was – as usual – the very last student out from his classroom; the small boy had his arms filled with books, mostly related to space and various animals, while his teacher kept a hand upon his head. The large coat made him look larger than reality, especially with the thick scarf and gloves, but it also made him look all the more adorable, which caused Keith to smile in turn.

“Dylan, it’s time to get going,” called Keith.

The small boy looked over to his father, before he burst into a wide grin. It was the same cheeky smile that Shiro used to wore in his more childish moments, something expressive and full of emotion, and it broke his heart to be reminded of his lost lover every time he saw that same face. There was no knowing where Shiro was located. It was difficult to explain to people; the worst part wasn’t the lack of support emotionally or financially, but simply the lack of closure . . . never knowing whether Shiro was alive or dead.

He barely noticed that Dylan was running straight for him, at least until he caught the teacher cry out to be careful and felt his son lunge at his torso. The books and schoolbag were dropped to the ground, as two small arms wrapped around him, and – as Keith was knocked onto his back – he held back a curse and squeezed his son for a warm embrace. He figured Dylan’s affectionate side was genetic, as Keith was never one for public embraces.

“You’ll be as strong as your Daddy one day.”

Dylan simply beamed a bright smile, before he climbed off and grabbed his belongings. It was just enough time and space for Keith to climb to his feet and run a hand through his hair, as he looked down and saw various half-finished worksheets and projects sticking out from various books, which – in itself – was enough for Keith to roll his eyes. He loved his son more than life, but homework for Dylan meant homework for Keith, and he often resented time spent on multiplication tables when he could be searching for signs of Shiro.

“Looks like you had a boring day,” teased Keith.

“Nope, we had a lot of work to do.” Dylan gave a small pout. “It’s okay, though, as I was naughty in class this morning, so I didn’t have to do any! I had to sit in the principal’s office. I read all about space, Dad. It was fun! Teacher says I have to finish my work at home, though, so we have a lot to do tonight. That’s okay, Dad?”

“If your Daddy was here, he’d probably tell you off.” Keith pursed his lips and wondered what Shiro would have done as a parent. “Look, I can’t make you behave at school, but education is really important. Why were you even naughty in the first place?”

“So they’d send me to the principal’s office, duh!”

Keith bit his lip to hold back a smile. He remembered his expulsion from the Garrison, with the years after being spent using his mechanical skills for various repairs, and what little money came from that being spent on supporting his son, The truth was that education was less important to him, but he had given up that same education to find out about Shiro’s disappearance, then about Shiro’s actual whereabouts, and he half-suspected Shiro would have been furious at him for throwing away his education, let alone their son’s.

“Well, that sounds like as good as reason as any,” admitted Keith.

He refrained from chastising Dylan, instead offering him a hand, and – with a conspiratorial smirk – Dylan grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight for reassurance. The playground was almost empty by that point; Dylan struggled to hold all of his possessions, so Keith took the bag from his shoulder and slung it over his own, and together they began the slow walk to the rider parked over in the school car-park. The other children were always so jealous of the high-end vehicle, never realising it was fixed up from second-hand parts.

The short walk to the car park was always a pleasurable one. There were various visual and auditory stimuli to keep him distracted, from the school buses moving about to the few students fighting before being split apart, and Dylan babbled aimlessly to him while they walked hand-in-hand. The books and papers in his hand moved with the rhythm of his strides, until Keith silenced the inane chatter with a serious question:

“What work do you have?”

“Er, I think there’s some maths and some science,” said Dylan. “I’m supposed to make a family tree for English and history, but . . . well . . . we don’t have any family, do we? I told the teacher, but she just got sad and said to do a book report instead.”

“What about your grandparents in Japan?” Keith asked.

“It’s not as though we can afford to see them.”

“They still exist, though, Dylan.”

Dylan shrugged with a seeming indifference. It was difficult to judge his emotion; he often hid his sadness behind a smile, much as Shiro was prone to do, and – when truly upset – he would run away more often than not, unable to confront his emotions. Shiro’s parents were the only family they had in their lives, but sometimes Keith thought camera-chats weren’t enough for his young son. He just wished he could give Dylan more from life.

“ _Hey, Keith, don’t go away,_ ” called a voice.

Keith felt his blood run cold.

He clenched hard upon his son’s hand, until Dylan was forced to call out in pain, and – with a massive blow of guilt – he loosened his grip and apologised. The voice he heard was too familiar, but also too improbable to be real. Keith stood still and swallowed hard. He heard his heart race as it pulsed within his ears, just as he felt a cold sweat break painfully over his skin, and he couldn’t bring himself to believe the voice real, because to believe it real would be to lose it all over again. Shiro had left him twice now . . . Keith couldn’t bear it again.

Keith turned and looked back to the playground.

There stood Shiro.

Keith felt his knees grow weak, as he nearly stumbled over, but – with surprising depth for a young child – Dylan reached up and provided him with some stability. It was like living in a dream, where everything passed by in a blur of sensations that didn’t quite make sense, until he could no longer separate fantasy from reality. There was the familiar scar over Shiro’s nose and cheeks, borne from whatever happened during his first absence, along with a tuft of white hair and eyes bright and expressive, filled with sheer emotion.

He couldn’t move as Shiro came over to him. Keith felt his eyes water, while Dylan asked who the strange man was to them, and he began to hyperventilate with a surge of panic, until Shiro stood just a foot away from them both. He clenched hard upon his son’s hand, afraid to let go lest he lose him along with Shiro, and then – with an awkward grin and a blush to his cheeks – Shiro spoke in that all too smooth and gentle voice, as if nothing were wrong.

“Keith, I promise I came back the second I –”

Keith slapped him across the face.

* * *

“He doesn’t even recognise me.”

Shiro sat with hands clasped between his legs. He wore a white suit, accentuated with black patterns, which was form fitting and yet far from obscene. It complemented him well, but it also served as a reminder of how much time had passed between them, especially when the undercut of his black hair was now as white as his forelock. The scar upon his cheeks had not reduced in size or prominence since Keith last looked upon it, while the hands of his ex-lover looked more callused and cracked, so that both spoke of the long five-year absence.

It was cold outside, enough that the winter months were an almost torture. Keith looked through the window on the porch to the inside, where his son sat scribbling the answers to his homework sheets on the floor, and – as he sat cross-legged and before the television – he turned his head just enough to get the perfect angle. He looked identical to Shiro. It was an uncanny resemblance, enough to cause Keith’s heart to sink to his stomach.

“You’ve changed,” said Keith. “You don’t look like your photos.”

“You kept photographs of me? After all this time.”

Keith shrugged, as he kept his eyes upon his son. He disliked standing outside with Shiro, keeping his ex-lover from entry into shelter from the cold, but he would be a fool to let the older man anywhere near his son without reassurance. The board – once filled with research and evidence, a part of his constant search for Shiro – was now filled with homework sheets, school tickets, and various recipes. There were photographs of Shiro, but alongside photographs of Dylan and his friends. Life had moved on. Shiro had left them.

“He deserved to know who you were,” admitted Keith.

There was a smile from Shiro. He looked up with an expression akin to shame, something that Keith didn’t expect to see from a man who always acted according to what was ‘right’ and what helped the ‘greater good’. The strong breeze ruffled his hair, while the setting sun emphasised the bruise that was starting to form on Shiro’s cheek, and Keith wondered how ‘saving the universe’ could take so long . . . who else may have warmed Shiro’s bed . . . it felt petty to be so jealous, especially after so long, but a part of him still loved Shiro.

It was a difficult realisation. Keith hated himself for still caring about this man, who had abandoned him when he needed him most, and yet he could understand that Shiro did what he thought was best, acted in a way that would save more lives than through inaction. Keith leaned against the post of the porch, letting the hard wood dig into his back and provide a distraction, and he tried to control his breathing as best as possible. Shiro asked:

“Can I see him?”

“No, not yet,” said Keith in a harsh voice. “Do you know how much it hurt when you left? You made all my worst fears come true. You _abandoned_ me, Shiro! Dylan is starting to ask questions; he’s starting to blame me, I think . . . I have to look at him every day and wonder how long it’ll be until he feels like I feel. How long until he works out he wasn’t wanted?”

“Hold on now, Keith, that isn’t fair.” Shiro gave him a cold stare. “I had no idea that boy even existed until I came back to Earth, but you have no idea how much it broke my heart to leave him behind! He’s all that I’ve thought about for – for – how long has it even been?”

“Five years. He was eight months when you left . . . he turns six next month. I – I know you have a right to be in his life, and I’d _never_ deny him a relationship with you, but I _don’t_ want to introduce you to him as his father until -!” Keith shook his head and shrugged. “What happens if you leave again? What happens if you build a relationship with him, so that he grows to love you and need you in his life, but you . . . walk away from us?”

There was a long silence between them. Shiro looked down at the porch again, as his boots scraped against the wooden floorboards with a strange disinterest, and Keith – as he watched with a deep feeling of sadness in his chest – saw how Shiro traced various words in his native tongue. The trust between them had taken years to build, but had been dashed apart with just one impulsive action on Shiro’s part. It wasn’t just Keith’s heart at risk this time, not now his son would be able to remember those in his life, and that made the matter all the worse.

It would not be long before Dylan would want dinner; Keith looked through the window to see his son now with a juice pouch, taken from the lower shelves where things suitable for a child were kept, and it made him smile at the sight. He wanted to sit cross-legged beside his ex-lover, but he knew that he couldn’t take his son out of his sight. A part of Keith feared he would lose his son the same way he lost Shiro . . . he felt too over-protective.

The wind began to pick up, blowing dust and sand across the floorboards. There was a flicker from the television set inside, as the signal began to cut out from the bad weather, and Keith pinched the bridge of his nose in anticipation of his son’s inevitable complaints. He folded his arms across his chest, as he attempted to stay warm despite the cold weather, and he wondered whether Shiro would want to celebrate the holidays, now that he was home and they had a child together. Keith looked to the older man and waited for him to speak.

“I’m here to stay,” said Shiro.

“Are you?” Keith asked.

“Yes.” Shiro forced a smile. “When we left, we found a castle with two Alteans. Allura – the last female of her race – joined us as the Red Lion, so that we formed a team together, and ultimately we were able to take out Zarkon . . . he was an evil man. He – _his people_ – took me from Kerberos and forced me into slavery; that year when you thought me dead, I was being experimented upon and forced to fight as a gladiator. It was torture.”

“I – I’m not trying to undermine your trauma. I’m not even saying these . . . _Galra_ . . . weren’t evil or that their empire needed to be destroyed. I’m just saying that these people would have had five people _without_ you – enough to form Voltron! They didn’t need you, but _we_ needed you and you chose five strangers over your own son and boyfriend.”

“I didn’t even know Allura and Coran existed at the time.” There was a long sigh from Shiro, who shook his head with a sigh. “I just did what I thought was right, which was going out there to save the universe, because – if I didn’t – you _and_ our son would have suffered.”

“What about the next threat or the next empire? How can I trust –?”

“You can trust me. This is it, Keith. It’s over.”

Keith clenched his hands into tight fists. The nails of his hand dug into the skin of his palms, even through the thick material of his fingerless gloves, and he was forced to use all of his self-control not to storm away from Shiro. He wanted so much to trust him, but the past five years had been so difficult to endure. Each look to the older man brought a mixture of love and resentment, as he felt the rejection as much as the first time he read Shiro’s letter, and he hated himself for still having feelings for a man that left him. Keith asked with a sigh:

“So what’s your plan?”

“Coran and Allura have settled down on Arus,” said Shiro. “Lance stayed with them, which was a surprise to us considering how much his family on Earth mean to him. Hunk decided to live on Balmera with Shay. Do you remember Matt Holt? Katie and I found him after the war; their father had passed away, but Matt was alive and . . . well . . . they’re back at the Garrison, where I suspect they’ll settle back in over time.”

“Great, so that’s _their_ plans revealed, but what about you?” Keith bit his lip until it bruised. “I need to know, Shiro. Do you plan to go back into space? Do you want to work in the Garrison? Do you want to try making us work again? What’s happening?”

“Katie and Matt offered me a place to stay. I’m thinking of taking them up on the offer. That’s _not_ to say I’m leaving you, but just that staying here might confuse Dylan and it’s clear we have a lot to work out . . . I think we need space and time to get to know one another again. Ideally, I want to start working at the Garrison in strictly an instructor position.”

Keith gave a deep blush and looked away. It was strange to think about Shiro working back in the Garrison, especially when they had blamed him for the initial crash and sedated him on his return, and he wondered whether they would believe talk about ‘aliens’. There was every possibility that Allura or Coran – if those were the correct names – had contacted Earth or sent technology to prove the claims, but it still required a great deal of forgiveness on Shiro’s part for how he was treated by them. Keith shook his head and asked:

“What about _us_?”

“I want us to be a family,” admitted Shiro. “I stayed faithful to you, although there was – ah – one kiss with Allura . . . I feel I ought to tell you that, just so everything’s out in the open. I know you’ve probably moved on and found someone else, but if you are still single . . . once I can prove to you that you can trust me, could we maybe try again?”

“I’m still single,” muttered Keith. “I wasn’t faithful, though.”

“It was five years. I can understand that.”

The look on Shiro’s face was a heartbreaking expression. It brought about conflicting feelings from Keith; the guilt was strong enough to make him hate himself, but there was also fury that Shiro could be hurt when he had abandoned them . . . thought so little of them that they weren’t worth staying around . . . Keith swallowed hard. He fought back the tears from his eyes, no longer sure how to think or feel, as he avoided Shiro’s broken gaze. It took all his strength to admit to the truth, unwilling to say the words aloud even to himself.

“It was Iverson,” said Keith.

Shiro stood to his feet. There was no violence or anger in his gestures, but the way he let his prosthetic arm fall lifelessly by his side – his organic arm raised in a strange manner across his chest – made it clear that he was both defensive and offended. Keith wondered whether this would be the insurmountable obstacle between them, as opposed to the years spent apart due to Shiro’s momentary rejection. Keith brushed away a tear with a shrug.

“You’re joking,” whispered Shiro.

“I thought it’d piss you off the most.” Keith blushed. “I was incredibly depressed when you left; I couldn’t even get up some mornings, wasn’t sure how I would look after Dylan, and – well – one night I just kind of snapped. I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to _feel_ something. I thought it was a good idea at the time . . . it was just one night.”

Shiro said nothing, as he rubbed his organic hand over his mouth. It was difficult to watch how he paled and how tears flooded his eyes, especially now Keith knew that Shiro had remained chaste even after so many years, and he wanted nothing more than to take back that one night with Iverson and put things right. Keith let his shoulder sag and slumped forward, as he shoved his hands into his pockets and took a step closer to Shiro.

“Do you hate me?” Keith asked.

“No, I could never hate you,” said Shiro. “Still . . . how was he?”

Keith laughed despite himself. There was no judgement in his partner’s expression, just a genuine curiosity, and it was so at odds with the situation that Keith couldn’t help except to smile and be reminded of why he loved Shiro so much. The truth was that Iverson had been a little better at some things than Shiro, but the lack of an emotional connection – as well as the deep depression and drunken stupor – had made him wake up the following morning hating himself, as opposed to basking in the afterglow. Keith decided to change topics.

“Tomorrow’s a Saturday,” said Keith.

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, Dylan has the day off from school.” Keith shrugged. “We’ll drop you off at Matt’s in an hour or so, then tomorrow we’ll come meet you? I’ll explain things to Dylan tonight, once you’re gone, and then you can meet him properly as ‘Daddy’ tomorrow morning. We can arrange a regular schedule for you two, then – well – _maybe_ a date in a few months time.”

“I get it. Honestly, I do.” Shiro gave a sad smile. “You don’t want to jump back into a relationship with me, but just know that I’ll always love you. Thank you, though, for letting me have my son in my life . . . I just hope he won’t hate me. I did leave you both.”

“Dylan takes after you more than you know. He’ll forgive you.”

“What about you? Can you forgive me?”

Keith bit his lip and looked into those dark eyes. There was something there even after so many years, but the abandonment cut him deep to his core, and he knew that his technical infidelity would have hurt Shiro more than he was willing to show. He reached out to put a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, providing a small comfort in an otherwise dark and lonely time, and he felt a small comfort in how his partner smiled back at him.

“One day,” said Keith. “One day."


End file.
